The plums were hard, so I put them in a basket above the microwave, where I thought they’d be out of reach. The next day they were gone. At first, I blamed the raccoon. Then I found more quills than usual on the ottoman and rug. Next thing I knew, the hedgehog’s snout turned an odd greenish-gray and swelled like an over-watered zucchini. A phone call to Poison Control resulted in a trip to the hospital, where an allergist confirmed that the small Old World mammal would have to avoid consuming unripe fruit, in shades of purple and red. Insectivorous, he said. I’m sorry, I told her. She sulked for nine days straight, though I never understood if it was due to my carelessness or to her own disappointment.

Phillip Sterling’s most recent book is In Which Brief Stories Are Told, a collection of short fiction (Wayne State University Press). His flash fiction has appeared in Edge, Driftwood Review, Midway Journal, Opium, Bear River Review, and Epiphany, among other places. This submission is from a series titled “Amateur Husbandry.”